My Trip To Nagoro

ragazza

Nagoro is a small village in Japan, situated in the tumbling valleys of Shikoku. I was nearing the end of my journey at the time, with three days left before my flight back to Australia. I was on my return from Minokoshi, a beautiful place, relatively close to Nagoro. A friend had told me about the strange little village, almost entirely abandoned, so I thought I would pass through it before continuing home. Apparently, a woman who grew up in the village returned there to care for her dying father, only to find the town almost empty. Once he had passed, she constructed two life size dolls of her parents. She then continued to re-populate the village with more and more of these human dolls, each one representing a person she once knew that had either passed or moved away. There was still a tiny living population there - mainly people who were born there and never moved away.

I had caught an odd single-carriage train, being the only train to pass nearby the village. Devoid of any other passengers, the carriage deserted me at a lonely station from which I caught a bus to the outskirt of the town. As I approached, the village seemed to be flourishing with life - I could see people working in the fields, a family at a bus stop, a school full of children. A picturesque village lying against a backdrop of lush forest and clear skies. It was only as I got closer that I noticed the villagers were motionless. The people I saw, were in fact life-size dolls. I knew they would be there, but I didn’t think the place would be so infested by them. From a distance they were so life like it felt as though they could turn and wave to you at any moment. This feeling wasn’t helped by the fact that the buildings were all intact. It felt as though everybody in the village had just decided to up and leave the day before I arrived there.

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As I wondered through the streets, I passed a group of cyclists; frozen in time, balancing on their bikes. An old man sitting by a creek had caught a fish made of fabric on his rod. He was dressed in human clothes - green boots, khaki pants and a red coat. His button eyes were dark and wide, his canvas skin smooth and plump.

I walked over to the school I had seen as I approached the village. The door stood open, the hallways empty. My footsteps echoed like water dripping in a cave. I turned quickly as I noticed somebody staring at me in my peripheral vision. It was just another doll - a teacher standing in the corridor, hidden behind a wall. I wondered how the people that lived here got used to that constant feeling of being watched.

I continued down the corridors and noticed the clocks had all stopped at the same time - 2 p.m. I reached a class room completely filled with the life-sized dolls. The children sat at their desks; some working, others staring out the window, while the teacher leant against the back wall. The scene reminded me of the La Brea tar pits - the dolls paused and trapped in time, like the mammoths trapped in tar. The whole village reminded me of a video on pause that I was free to walk through as though I was the master of time and space - a fantasy that I found to be quite lonesome in reality.

I approached a large vegetable patch full of worker dolls, bent over tending to the plants. They were dressed like the others in human clothes; gardening boots and overalls and large sun hats, their chubby hands like stuffed mittens. Each of them had a unique expression sewn onto their face. It was uncanny.

I observed one kneeling over in the middle, just as I saw it’s arm twitch. It was facing away from me looking down. It twitched again and then, to my surprise, it rose up and turned around.

I was relieved to find that it was a breathing human. An older man wearing a brown-buttoned shirt, holding a garden trowel. He smiled and waved at me.

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The first human I had seen so far.

“Konbanwa!” ‘Good evening!’, I called out, overly excited to see another person at last.

The man bowed his head in response and continued gardening.

Spending time alone in Nagoro is nothing like spending time alone in other settings. When you walk alone through a forest, you can find peace in the serenity. Your thoughts can wonder and you begin to reflect on yourself. You are free to admire the natural beauty.

Nagoro on the other hand, although charming in it’s own way, is not a calming place. Because you are not actually alone when you are in Nagoro. You are surrounded by bustling life, only you are just not apart of it. It feels as though you have been exiled from a happy place; a joyful, simple village life that many would envy. I found myself constantly thinking about what the dolls were doing. I wondered who they represented and how it would feel to be apart of their lives.   

The sky began to blend into pink and orange, so I decided to head back to the bus stop. I weaved through the masses of empty vessels, passing a shop full of dolls holding baskets of real, rotting fruit and a park where a stuffed dog raced a ball back to its owner - both of them frozen in time.

When I reached the giant elm tree that towered above the bus stop, the timetable informed me that there were no buses coming through until tomorrow morning. The last one had passed through half an hour ago. I considered walking to the train station, but it was much too far away and it was already getting dark.

I would have to stay the night.

I lugged my hiking bag back into the village and searched for an abandoned house that I could sleep in. Nagoro doesn’t feel the same at night. It doesn’t feel right. It’s not a big city that doesn’t sleep; it’s a tiny village which, at the fall of night, you’d expect everybody to return to their beds. But the village dolls don’t retreat to their homes. They stay about their business. They become black shadows - ghosts, everywhere you turn. Compared to the day in which the village feels warm and full of life, the night is haunting, the dolls completely out of place.

I entered a street lined with houses, all of them abandoned yet not a single one empty. I walked into the first house I came upon, the door carelessly open. I didn’t bother taking off my shoes out of respect, as there was no one living there, but I still felt guilty when I walked in to face the resident family. I could make out three dolls in the dark - a father, reading and two kids holding toys. Much of the furniture in the house was gone. The walls and shelves were bare, not a signal piece of memorabilia left behind. Even the toys that the kids held were fabricated to match their own design. It was like the family had just stayed here while everything was taken away from them, refusing to acknowledge it. The only item that stood out was a clock on the wall. It had stopped at 2 p.m. Just like the one in the school had.

There was a futon in what I assumed was the parents room, where the mother doll was sound asleep. She was turned on her side so I couldn’t see her face. I walked around and poked her just to make sure I felt soft, cold material and decided to sleep in the kids room, on the floor. I set up my sleeping bag, had an energy bar, and cautiously drifted to sleep. There is nothing comforting in trying to sleep in an occupied house, of which the residents are unaware of you.   

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When I woke up the next morning, I was startled to see a doll standing in the corner of the room, opposite me. He was looking straight at me, holding books to his chest. I mustn’t have noticed him, hidden in the night. It was unsettling, but I didn’t dwell on it as I planned on leaving the village straight away. I packed up my things and left the family behind me - the father stuck on the same page of his book.

Outside, the village was back to life, the dolls trapped in happy memories. I walked through the streets until I had left the village behind and continued toward the bus stop. But when I reached the giant elm tree, the bus stop was nowhere to be seen. The wooden shelter and the timetable had vanished. I looked up at the tree. It’s leaves rustled far above me like an expression of sympathy. I was sure it was the right tree. I hadn’t seen another one like it. I stood there a while, completely bewildered. I was certain this was where the bus stop had been yesterday. I turned around and looked back at the village. It seemed as though it was looking straight back at me. The dolls were far away but as I squinted, it looked as though all of them had turned to face me, all in the same position. I shook my head. No, I knew it was all in my head. I was just tired and disoriented from all the travelling. There were real people living in that village. I had met one the day before. I must have retraced my steps the wrong way. I decided to return to the village and talk to the man I had seen in the field.

I walked quickly along the lone path, realising the dolls were still in their individual positions as I came nearer. They hadn’t been staring at me - I knew it was just my imagination. I didn’t expect the village to have such a strong effect on me. I passed homeless dolls, asleep on their benches, and a row of very patient fishermen until I saw the elderly man in the distance, working in his vegetable patch. I reached the fence and called out to him.

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Ohayou!” ‘Good morning,’ I called out.

He was surrounded by the working dolls, some bent over, others leaning against the fence. He was turned away from me and didn’t seem to have heard me. I opened the gate and walked between the rows of vegetables, getting closer and closer until I realised something. His hands. They were swollen. I finally reached him and tapped him on the shoulder. My hand sunk into soft body. I walked around to his front, confronted by the soft smile sewn on his face. It was just another doll.

But it was wearing the man’s clothes. The same garden boots, the khaki pants, the brown buttoned shirt. It was even holding a garden trowel, the same one he was holding yesterday. Where had he gone? Was my mind playing tricks on me? Did I wave and speak to a doll yesterday?

No. I was sure I hadn’t imagined it. He had waved back to me. I remembered it precisely. I ran over to the house that seemed to be joined to the patch of land. The door was open and a single doll sat inside. A woman, staring up to the ceiling, her pants grey and her white shirt hanging loosely.   

I didn’t know what to think of it. I just wanted to get out of there. I ran back through the village to the giant elm tree where the bus stop had vanished. I checked my phone. It was stuck on 2 p.m. Friday. But it wasn’t Friday, it was Saturday. I tried to unlock it but it wouldn’t let me in. It kept saying I was entering the wrong password.

I didn’t know what to do, so I followed the road. If I remembered correctly, I was progressing in the direction that the bus had continued. It would have to lead me to a neighbouring village. A thick forest bordered the opposite side of the road, so dense and dark it was as though the night slept among it’s branches. I continued along, keeping to the opposite side, away from the looming trees.

I had walked for what seemed like at least an hour before the road turned and entered the forest. I stood before it. The morning light barely penetrated a few metres in. But what else was I to do? I had to keep going. I let my bag down to consume another energy bar before continuing on. No buses or any other vehicles had passed through the road yet. The forest was completely still. Not a leaf rustled as I entered.

Deeper inside, I noticed a young girl sitting beneath a tree. She was crouched next to the road with her head between her knees. When I walked up to her, I felt something change in the air, as though I was being watched. I turned around and there leaning against a tree, was another doll. A man with a hat on, his arms crossed and his head tilted to one side - staring blankly at me. I turned to the young girl and grabbed her arm, only to feel the soft distortion of fabric. Her limp body rolled to the side, slumping onto the road. Her morbid expression piercing into me.

I stumbled along the road, looking back at the man that had appeared behind me. The forest grew darker and darker, adamant in its silence. Until, I saw someone in the distance.

“Tasukete!” ‘Help!’, I shouted.

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They didn’t move, only stared back at me. As I got closer I realised it was another doll. It was positioned to face me, just like the one I had encountered earlier. My skin shivered and I grew cold. I turned around, overwhelmed by the identical trees, every leaf completely silent.

And then I noticed them.

More of the dolls. At least ten of them, all spread throughout the forest behind me. Some crouched behind bushes, others peering out from behind the trunks. All of them were staring at me.

I turned and ran into the darkness. Twigs snapped beneath my feet as I suddenly realised I was not on the road anymore. I was lost. Completely lost. And I was being followed.

I continued running, swerving through the trees and climbing over monstrous roots. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t have a plan. I just needed to get away from that village.

I ran and ran until I fell upon a clearing, relieved to finally be out of the forest. The daylight poured onto the grass and wildflowers. In the centre, a little cabin rested beneath a pink myrtle tree. I raced over, knocking frantically on the wooden door.

“Tasukete! Tasukete!” ‘Help!’ I yelled.

An old frail woman answered the door, startled by my frenzy.

“Gomen nasai” ‘Excuse me, sorry,’ I said. “Do you know where I am right now?”

“Yes, you are near Mount Miune,” she replied. “Are you alright? Please, come in.”

The old woman opened the door as I obliged and laid my bag on the floor.

“Arigato” ‘Thank you,’ I said.

She lead me into the kitchen and gave me some water.

“Where are you from?” She asked.

“Australia. I just passed through Nagoro on my return from Minokoshi.”

Her eyes widened.

“Nagoro?”

She stood up and hurried to the door, locking it.

“How long did you stay there for?” She asked, as she came back into the kitchen.

“Just one night. The buses stopped so early.”

“You spent a night at Nagoro?” She said in shock. “Oh, no. You shouldn’t have slept there.”

“There’s something wrong with that place, isn’t there?” I said. “Those dolls. Those human dolls. They followed me into the forest.”

“The village is cursed,” the old lady whispered. “Once you sleep there, the curse takes hold of you. You become part of their world, you begin to freeze in time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“I’m so sorry, dear. I’ve seen this happen so many times. People think it’s some kind of fun place to visit, as though it’s just some novelty they can tread through.”

I felt my arms and legs lose sensation as she spoke.

“People think the villagers left,” the old lady continued.

My whole body grew numb until I couldn’t feel the chair beneath me.

“Nobody has ever left that town,” she said.

I wanted to speak but my mouth wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move at all.

“Nobody ever will.”

I watched, completely paralysed as she reached beneath the table and placed a basket of needles and fabric in front of me.

“Well, my dear,” she smiled, while threading string through a needle.

“We better get started.”

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